


Play Your Violin For Me

by 0pposing



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Anger, Angry Sex, Angry Sherlock, Drunk John, Eventual Smut, Face Slapping, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friendship/Love, Harsh Oral, Jealous Sherlock, Kidnapping, Love/Hate, M/M, Makeup Sex, Mary and John split up, Oral Sex, POV Sherlock Holmes, POV everyone, Protective John, Sexual Abuse, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Sleepy Cuddles, Sloppy Makeouts, Texting, Unrequited Love, just read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-11 03:35:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0pposing/pseuds/0pposing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John knows Sherlock is straight. Right? But maybe Sherlock wouldn't mind shagging another man for once, twice. Actually all the time. Sherlock and John shag, leading Sherlock to become overprotective and kidnap John so that no one else can have him, using him like his own personal toy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Play Your Violin For Me

**Author's Note:**

> I doubt I'm going to get ANY hits for writing this, and ehh, whatever. I put a shit ton of effort into this, and although I may not be as good as most people are (holy shit, I've read some spot on ones), but I did try a lot so any amount of hits make me forever happy. <3 A Finger Slip, The Charred Remains, and Sketchy were my inspirational stories that drove me to write my own, give those a view.
> 
> For the dancing scene I recommend: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V3b1CDLsiGU

Sherlock giggled slightly and scratched his nails at the restaurant table. It was coated in gloss, the wood underneath preserved and neat. His nails scraped against it and collected like sawdust on his fingers and on the edge of the table. Puckering his lips, he inhaled and blew softly, brushing the chippings off of the table and onto the floor. He smiled at John. "No, I really did not know we revolved around the Sun! I deleted it because it was obviously of no importance at the time." He scratched again, this time almost breaking through the layer of gloss and reaching the wood. John looked at him curiously.

"Have you even touched your food, Sherlock?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Not hungry."

"You're never hungry. I don't know why we go out so much if you just drink a bunch of tea, you never eat. You order, but never eat." John shook his head and dipped his chip into some sauce, pulling it back and launching it into his mouth with a half-effort throw. Sherlock's eyes twitched at the continuous movements of John's mouth, the same repeating notions and the sound of the morsel squishing in between his molars. He inhaled harshly and looked around the restaurant. Rubbing the sides of his nose, he exhaled finally and closed his eyes. "Can we leave now? I have a migraine."

John looked sharply over to Sherlock and gulped his food down. "Y-yeah sure." He popped one last chip into his mouth before getting up and paying the fee.  
"Any reasons _why_ you have a migraine?" John asked and opened the door for Sherlock, following him close behind. "They seem to come and go often for you, maybe you should have that checked out."

"Why? You're a doctor, aren't you? You can just do it. I don't trust the other doctors. Always find some reason to mark up the expenses even more."

John laughed a little bit. "Not all of us. I would never do that."

"That's because you know me, John." Sherlock's feet pounded swiftly on the sidewalk as he stuck his hands far into his pockets. They weren't far from the flat and it wasn't raining today, so they both figured they'd just walk for the exercise and air. Both of their breathing dramatically increased, as each of them were both taking in the smell and clean air outside. But at the same time, it wasn't only their breathing rate that increased, it was their hearts. For every step they took with each other, it beat faster and faster. Both of them had similar feelings for each other, but neither of them could admit it, for fear of losing the other. As they continued to walk, it was silent the whole way. No words were spoken, but it was not awkward. It was a forgiving silence. An understanding between the two that silence was always better if you didn't know what to say.

As they reached the flat, Sherlock unlocked the door and stepped inside.

"Ah, boys! You're home. I've made a fresh batch of cookies for ya both, they're upstairs waiting in your kitchen." Mrs. Hudson smiled grandly, ushering them both up the stairs.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, but I believe we'll be taking our drink and cookies alone." Sherlock shut the door behind them before she could get in, then turned around sighing deeply, converting to a slight laugh afterwards. "She does drive me crazy sometimes with all her blabbering." John nodded before removing his jacket and shoes, then sitting abruptly in his usual chair.

"Mm, it does feel good to be home. The air outside was nice though, don't you agree?" Sherlock didn't answer and paced around in the kitchen before looking at the cookies strangely.

"Mrs. Hudson doesn't bake often, right?"

"No.. I don't think so. So?"

"So these aren't from her." He grabbed the platter and brought them to his nose, sniffing them. "Gunpowder."

"Sherlock, why on _Earth_ would there be gunpowder in our cookies?" John chuckled slightly, before heightening his gaze to Sherlock's eyes.

"They were not made by her. Did you not notice her eyes? Red. Also, the scratch on her left elbow and the black stain on the lower hem of her dress. You don't get black on you from baking cookies for Gods sake, John. Think." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Someone is here. She wanted to follow us up here. But she couldn't. I didn't let her."

John licked his bottom lip. "Soo..? Whoever made her poison the cookies might still be here?"

"Possibly." Sherlock twirled swiftly around and approached John, grabbing him by the shoulders. "He or she is probably with Mrs. Hudson this very instant. You have to go check on her, John!" He urged John to get up and basically shoved him out of the door. Once he was gone, Sherlock took the mysterious tray of cookies and dumped it into the waste bin. He then went back to the front door and locked it from the inside, so it was not possible for anyone to come in.

Sherlock had planted the cookies there, with the help of Mrs. Hudson. He needed to distract John.

Grabbing a red velvet sheet from the cupboard, he draped it across the small kitchen table until it was even on both sides. Sherlock smiled to himself, grabbing a long candle from one of the counter drawers, setting it exactly mathematically in place; in the center of the table. Sherlock took his hands and straightened out the tablecloth, smoothing down every crease and crinkle in the red cloth. The corners folded down around the circular small table, forming small triangles hanging down on the sides. He smiled to himself for a quick second and removed his suit jacket, sitting it on the coat rack. His fingers found his way to his collar and he straightened it out, popping it a little more. Admiring himself in the windows dim reflection, he cleared his throat and removed any traces of dirt from his face. He rubbed his hands together fast, breathing in rushingly and exhaling slowly.

A knock came from the door. "Sherlock? Are you in there? Mrs. Hudson is by herself. What's going on?" The knock came again and Sherlock looked towards the door. 

"One minute." He grabbed two wine glasses that were in the lower right cupboard and set them on the table, pouring a bottle of wine he had gotten from the counter into both the cups; half full.

"Sherlock, if you are seriously lying to me, this is literally the last I've had of you." John pounded on the door and put his head against it.

Sherlock strode over to the door, turning the lock with his nervous hands and swinging the door open to allow John to come in. "Ah, John. Please. Have a seat." He smiled and lengthened his arm span, to point John in the direction of the small circular table. "I've made it a point to buy your favorite wine. I remember everything."

John stared at Sherlock. "Uh-uhm.. Who are you and what have you done with Sherlock? You are the _farthest_ thing from friendly and/or romantic." John ruffled his brow and licked his bottom lip again.

A habit.

"I just thought that maybe we needed to relax a little. Loosen up. I understand your clinic has been full? I've been round a few times but you were always busy." Sherlock took Johns shoulder and pushed him gently towards the table. "Please. Sit."

John eventually gave in and sat down, sighing deeply and closing his eyes. "I still don't understand, Sherlock. Why?" He rubbed his temples gently and shook his head.

"Listen, John. We both know that there's.. unresolved tension between us. With Reichenbach and all and your break up from Mary. You're feeling down lately and trust me, i notice things. The way you look when someone even just mentions Mary. The cringe in your eyes, the dissolved sparkle that's always there. You think I don't get it, but I do. The chemistry is fascinating." Sherlock finished speaking and sat across from John. "It's easy to read you, John Watson. I can read everything about everyone but _you_ , John, you are the person I love to read the most." He sipped his wine and set it back down on the table.

John stared at him once again, mouth parted slightly. "Is this your own little weird way of saying you actually care for me?" John licked both his lips, then reopening his mouth slightly and leaving it that way. he was partially bent over the table, face forward and both of his hands placed on his thighs, knuckles white and tense.

* * *

The silence was interrupted by the doorknob turning slowly and opening to reveal a half out of breath Mycroft.

"Sherlock, have you no idea how to answer your phone? I ran here because apparently no cab would take me to-" He stopped in mid-sentence, noticing the display around him. "Oh. That's why. I forgot that you had your little plans today with your boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend." Sherlock stood up fast, staring at Mycroft. "What do you want, brother dear?"

Mycroft smirked slightly, removing his hat and placing his cane next to the couch. "I came because I wanted to inform you that I received a letter in the mall, addressed to you though." He fumbled around in his coat pockets before bringing out an eggshell white envelope. "There's nothing in it but a paperclip, it seems. I've had it x-rayed and all. Nothing." He frowned and handed it to Sherlock.

"I see. From who?" Sherlock asked and scraped the envelope with his fingernail, greeting dust particles to fly off and wither into the air like gnats. 

"Mother."

Silence

.

.

.

.

.

.

"Sherlock? What's the matter?"

The envelope dropped from his hands and fell slowly to the ground, turning and swishing every possible way to the floor. "Does this mean a family reunion? I'm not going."

"What? Sherlock, what ever is the matter?" Mycroft smirked and retrieved his coat and cane. "I assume only the nice relatives will be there. I have to take my leave now, Sherlock." Another larger smirk appeared. "Have a lovely rest of your day."

Sherlock stared, mouth agape and eyes wide. The paleness in his retina shined brightly, but other than it being bright, there was no emotion in it. It was full of dull, dull, emptiness. John spoke first out of them, "Okay, what just happened here? A paper clip? Sherlock, I doubt your mother had any intentions of frightening you out of a reunion. If anything I'll go with you."

Sherlock removed the paperclip and turned around to face John, holding it up in the light for him to see. It looked like gold, or it was dipped in gold. Parts of it began to flake off at the corners where it was bent; where it was bent to form an S. John shook his head and laughed slightly.

"An S? For what, 'Sherlock'?"

"Obviously, but maybe it was just a paperclip.. Mother doesn't send mail. I'm not even sure she knows how." He trailed off and put it back into the envelope. "This ruined the entire night." He turned to John and smiled. "Goodnight."

"W-what? Sherlock, we haven't even finished our _wine_ or-or watched a late night TV show or-or _anything_. And you're just going to go to bed because some old ba-, excuse me, your mother is _patronizing_ you? No one ever patronizes you." Sherlock ignored every word he said and left the room.

"I suggest you go to bed John. Because I am. Goodnight." Sherlock entered his room, shutting the door with his foot behind him. John stood in the center of the living room, staring at the open hallway door, from which anyone could walk in at any second. His feet found their courage and a weak hand shut it and locked it. He sniffed, his eyes getting wattery and his lips becoming dry. This whole night was supposed to be about them. Not his mother. But of course, nothing good ever lasts forever and it would've come to an end anyways without the interruption.

John shut off all the lights in the room and sat down in his chair, still not blinking an eye. It was pitch black in the room, minus the dim light coming in through the large windows in front of him. The paperclip still lay on the table, dull and rusty. John looked over at it and scoffed under his breath. That item; that pitiful, horrendous, small item had just ruined any chances of John openly admitting his feelings to Sherlock. His eyes sank down and he looked at the floor, at his feet, then at the hallway where Sherlock's bedroom door lay. He sat up and walked over to the hallway, staring it down for a couple seconds before trudging silently to Sherlock's room. He pressed his ear to the door and closed his eyes, listening intently. Hearing nothing, he opened it slowly and quietly, peering into the extremely dark room. John could only make out a few shapes; the bed, Sherlock's form in the bed, the large nightstand and a glint from the window. Closing the door, he leaned his back against it, letting his eyes adjust to the light. After maybe a couple of minutes, he began to make his way towards the bed, squinting slightly.

There was a stir and John stopped in his tracks, halting his breath and any movement. Sherlock was still again and John reached the bed eventually, sitting down next to where Sherlock lay.

"Mm.. John?" Sherlock mumbled slightly and turned over to face him, eyes open partially. "What are you doing in here?" His eyes shut again and he smacked his lips together, licking them like they were dry. John eyed the way his tongue ran softly over his own lips, over every crease, every tooth. It was elegant and slow, but ravishing.

John brushed the hair back from Sherlock's forehead; away from his eyes at least. "What was tonight about, Sherlock?" John took his hand away and set it on Sherlock's arm; the one that was draped over his stomach.

"Just.. friend stuff.." He trailed off and opened his eyes, trying to keep them open.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"Nooope."

"Alright. I'll be off then." John stood up, removing his hand from Sherlock's arm and walked towards the door.

"John..?" Sherlock sat up in his bed, sheet falling off of him and revealing his bare chest. John turned around and gulped slightly. Magnificent. He was porcelain pale, his muscles being defined by how smooth and natural his skin was. His complexion seemed to gleam, even in what little light there was. "Can you stay in here tonight? Just for tonight."

John licked his lower and upper lip, swallowing again. "U-uh yes. I believe I can do that." He nodded and walked towards the bed again. "Shall I uh.. get a blanket to sleep on the floor then?"

"No. The bed is fine." Sherlock closed his eyes again and smiled to himself, not visible to John. 

John removed his shoes, then jacket, then socks. He had made it a point to leave on at least his shirt and pants to not make it any more awkward than it already was. Pulling back the blanket on the opposite side of the bed, he slid in, facing away from Sherlock and pulling the sheets up to his chin. He stared into the dark, not blinking again. He began to feel the body heat from Sherlock reaching him, making the bed noticeably warmer. He smiled slightly and closed his eyes, then fell into a semi-deep sleep.

* * *

 Sherlock awoke slowly, looking around the room, enlarging his eyelids and blinking rapidly. The drapes were down, but he knew it was morning. His hand felt its way to Johns side of the bed, to only find out it was empty, but still slightly warm. It wasn't that long ago that John had left. Sherlock pulled back the blankets, but didn't let go and got out of bed. He wrapped the sheets around him like a robe up to his chin, and walked towards his door. He heard slight banging in the other room and he raised his eyebrow. Opening the door, he stepped out of the room and into the somewhat cold hallway. His feet carried him all the way into the kitchen, where he found John slaving over a stove, oven mitts on.

"Oh! Sherlock. I've taken the liberty of deciding to make you breakfast. I know you don't eat much but.. y'know."

"Know what?"

"It's just a nice thing to do, sit down." John scoffed and scooped up half-burnt eggs from a pan onto a plate and set it onto the table in the kitchen, moving science materials out of the way. "You really need to get to cleaning this all up. It's hard to do anything in here."

Sherlock eyed John suspiciously, eyes wandering over every inch of Johns body. He had awoken several times in the night and had just a slimmer of hope, that John would awaken too and they could both enjoy each others conversations and maybe, just maybe cuddle with each other.

"Listen. John. I  shouldn't have asked you to stay with me last night. It was completely unprofessional, and I apologize for my actions or anything I might've done in my sleep."

"You do things in your sleep?"

"Yes."

"Like what?" John giggled slightly and smirked, the corner of his mouth tilting half-heartedly.

"Nothing." Sherlock had a simple blush on his face, but it quickly dispersed when his eyes wandered over to John. He pulled the chair out for Sherlock and he took a seat in it. He was a little hungry anyways, although they were burnt badly, Sherlock could suffice and shovel them down. Grabbing the fork next to his plate, he picked one up and put it into his mouth. His teeth moved slowly, up and down, up and down.

He forced the food down his throat and opened his eyes wide. "Horrible." He smiled and threw the eggs into the trash next to him. "But thank you anyways."

"Did you just say thank you?"

"Yes? Why?"

"You never say thank you. Let alone apologize like you just did." John furrowed his brow and turned around to face Sherlock. "It's a first for everything I guess." He giggled again.

"Are you going out today?" 

"No. Why?"

Sherlock didn't answer, grabbing the paper and putting it in front of his face. 

"Sherlock, why?"

"Because. That's why." He smiled behind the paper but it quickly went away.

"Alright, then." John removed the warm oven mitts from his hands and set them on the counter, turning around to face Sherlock. "Was there anything you wanted to do today?"

Sherlock put the paper down and raised his eyebrows. "We could go for lunch?" He smiled quickly and returned the paper to his face.

"That sounds fine, considering you thought my eggs were appalling."

"They were dull."

John laughed and walked into the living room, sitting down in his own special chair. Sherlock looked over with his side-eye view and studied him intently, although his back was facing to him. Getting up slowly, attempting to make mild noise or no noise at all, he walked over to him and stood behind him. "John."

"Hmm?" John swung his head back and looked up at Sherlock.

"You really have no clue how grateful I am you stayed last night." And without warning, Sherlock swooped down, kissing John on the forehead, then turning swiftly around, bed sheets following his direction, he walked back into the kitchen to make some tea.

John sat there, same head position, eyes open wide, but blinking harsh, but once, every few seconds. He said nothing. Minutes, hours it seemed, passed by unnoticingly, as John just sat in his chair, head back, eyes agape and his mind bustling with thousands and millions of things to say, but none would come out. Licking his bottom lip, he found the guts and courage to stand up then turn around. "Sherlock."

"Yes?"

"If you're going to do that, don't stop there." 

Sherlock's head whirled around and he looked at John, cocking his head to the side and raising his eyebrows. His lips parted and he smacked them together softly. He began to walk towards John, the beats in his heart increasing their rate for every step he took. Sherlock's bare porcelain hand found its way to Johns jaw and he rubbed his index finger along it, tracing along his chin, then curved down his neck, brushing the buttons of Johns shirt. John blushed bright red and looked down at Sherlock's fingers.

Sherlock leaned in and pushed his lips against John's face, brushing his tongue against his mouth. Sherlock's tongue explored everything in Johns mouth, the harsh, chapped lips, the ridged teeth and the smoothness of his tongue. He pushed his chest into Johns body, feeling his erection grow quite strongly near his thigh. His fingers tightened their grasp on the back of John's head as Sherlock moved his lips in unison with John's, breathing through his nose.

After what seemed like hours, they both let go of each other. Sherlock, pressing his nose to Johns, closed his eyes again and exhaled softly. "John."

"Sherlock."

"I'm going to go shopping for groceries."

"Shopping? Since when do you shop?" John giggled and kissed Sherlock on the lips for a quick second, but Sherlock pulled John back into another long, meaningful kiss. Their hands intertwined and their bodies moved softly with each other. 

"We need milk." Sherlock smiled into the kiss and retracted from John.

"We do." 

Sherlock let go of John and walked over to his bedroom, shutting the door quickly behind him. Walking over to his wardrobe, he opened the doors, searching for a suitable outfit. After just a second of looking, he debated on a black jumper and dark grey trousers. He let the sheet that was wrapped around his body drop to the floor, revealing his cold, lean stature. Pulling on his clothes, John opened the door and peered inside. "Can I go with you?"

"Yes, that's fine. I'd assume we'd pick something out for dinner also?"

"I was thinking fish. Maybe salmon with some lemon?"

"That's fine." Buttoning up his shirt, he turned to face John. "Listen, what just happened, you mustn't tell anyone. Especially Mycroft. Considering he is my older brother, I'm sure this wouldn't come off as too simple. But there is a good thing to you and I."

"What is it?"

"This isn't dull."

John smiled and looked at the floor. "No.. no, it's not dull. Far from it actually." He shifted comfortably between feet and licked his lower lip. "Shall we be going?"

Sherlock nodded and brushed past John, leaving his bedroom, but in the process, touching Johns fingertips with his own. John smiled and followed behind Sherlock, exiting the flat. They met Mrs. Hudson along the way. Suspicions were raised of course, her being the way she is, but that was one person Sherlock didn't care about knowing.

* * *

 

The store visit was short. Extremely short, as a matter of fact. Sherlock and John both barged in through the flat door, snogging horrifically, with only a few seconds of pausing to take a breath.

"Wait." Sherlock said against Johns lips and pulled back for a minute, focusing his attention on the sounds around them. "We must be completely careful if we are.. to do this."

"Sherlock.. Listen. I'm not sure if I want to just yet. I think it'd be better if we wait. And i don't like that we're hiding this from your entire family and friends. They should know." Sherlock blinked once and rubbed the side of his nose with his fingers.

"I understand." Hanging his head, he smiled softly. "Good choice. I do have one request though."

"Hmm? And what's that?"

"Can you teach me.. to dance?" He blushed slightly, turning his head to the side, closing his eyes.

"Of course I can. You don't.. know how? Not even a little..," John does a little salsa move. "a little that?"

"No. I don't even know what that was." Sherlock laughed and walked towards the vinyl player, inserting a record onto the top. Music began to play and John stepped towards Sherlock.

"Now.. Place your hand on my waist; you're leading." 

Sherlock gently placed his rugged hand upon Johns waist, grasping ever so slightly. John clasped his hand around Sherlock's in half mid-air, intricate and simple dance style. Used commonly everywhere. He spoke of the steps that took place; the placing of the leaders feet, and the twirl. Oh, the twirl. Sherlock raised Johns hand above his head, letting John spin clumsily.

They both laughed and pressed their chests together, Sherlock resting his chin on top of John's head, their hands remained clasped together. Swaying gently back and forth, Sherlock closed his eyes and exhaled though his nose loudly. "John?"

"Yeah?"

"What does.. happy feel like?"

John smiled, pressing his head further into the crevice of Sherlocks neck. "Well it's.. it's when you're comfortable. When you are content with everything you are and everything around you. When you no longer have to hide in your own shadow. Everything around you comes out, everything looks a little brighter and everything has a soft touch to it. You can be yourself with everyone and everything. You can stop hiding from anything that has ever scared you. You can come out." 

Sherlock kissed the top of Johns head. "I'm scared to feel like that. I've always heard it hurts you in the end. Or maybe that was love. Doesn't matter, they have almost the exact same chemistry." He laughed and continued to sway with John, closing his eyes again, pressing his cheek to the top of Johns head, inhaling his scent and basking in the love that came from him. Sherlock could attempt to hide his feelings all he wanted, but the truth was, was that sooner or later it would all come out. Whether it was now, where the two of them danced and swayed with each other, glorifying in everything around them, or later, when John had possibly gone his separate way.

 "I want to be happy with you, John Watson. I want to be happy forever." Sherlocks rugged hands tensed slightly around John, bringing him in closer while they swayed back and forth, breathing steadily. "And one day, the happiness will end. I know this because I know you. I know people. I may not have a considerable amount of friends, but I know their ways. And this will end. Life will go back to the way it was. I don't know if I can handle that."

"You won't have to. Because it's not going to happen. I promise you that, Sherlock." John looked up at the tall man, forcing a half smile. But inside, he was scared too. There was a saying, that all good things come to an end and in most cases, it usually happened. "I won't let myself leave you, and I won't let anyone else take you away. Understand?" There was silence as John stared at Sherlock, his pale eyes gleaming back at Johns, showing only but a simple amount of emotion.

"Understood." Sherlock put his nose to the top of Johns head and breathed in, smiling at his scent. It was musky, sweaty, and just the right amount of manly. Only John could smell like that. So delicious.

_I think I might have inhaled you.._

_I can feel you behind me.._

_You've gotten into my bloodstream_

_I can feel you flowing in me_

_"_ It's so peaceful in here right now. It's quiet. Even with the music, it's nice." 

"Yes. It is quite peaceful. Dreadfully boring though." Sherlock smiled and laughed softly. "I'm only joking. Slightly."

John laughed and pressed his ear to Sherlocks chest, listening softly with his eyes shut. "Your heart rate is above average. Increased much. Hmm, what does that say about you, Sherlock?" 

Sherlock raised his eyebrows and stared ahead, coughing nervously. "It says nothing. Nothing at all, just a heart problem." He coughed again and let go of John. "I think you should make dinner."

* * *

 

John sat a circular glass plate in front of Sherlock on the table. On the plate contained a sliced open fish with salt seasonings and lemon juice. The smell rose to his nostrils and his mouth watered. He was dreadfully hungry for once. And John knew how to cook decently. Pouring himself a glass of wine on the table, he grabbed his utensils, cutting a strip of the fish off and bringing it to his mouth. He observed it for a second and squinted his eyes. "You didn't poison this, right? Not assuming."

"Of course not, Sherlock. Why the hell would I do that? Sometimes you have rather crude accusations." John laughed and cleared a space next to Sherlock, sitting down on the side of him.

Sherlock put the food into his mouth and chewed, secretly relishing every bite and every swallow. He was rarely ever hungry, therefor he rarely ate. Even when he did, the food was bland and dull and he never savored it. "This is okay."

"Okay?"

"I don't compliment."

"Yeah, I know you don't." John smiled to himself and ate his food, occasionally sipping his wine.

All the while after they were done eating, the two sat on the couch together, taking in the peacefullness of a full belly and a relaxed mind.

"So.. It's late and I should be heading to bed." John stood up, brushing imaginary crumbs off of his pants and sighing. "Goodnight, Sherlock." 

"John." A hand reached out and grabbed Johns. "Wait." Sherlocks fingers flexed around Johns fist and he squeezed ever so slightly. Warmth emitted from the doctor and Sherlock shuddered gently. "Listen. I need you to stay with me one more night."

"Why? Mycroft has the key here and you never know when he could come in and see us. We said to keep this secret."

"And it is! But i just need you there for a little while longer. Next to me." Sherlock stood up, ruffled his hair, sighing sadly. "But in the end, it is indeed your decision to make and I shall be in my room." Sherlock walked into the dim hallway, entering his bedroom and shutting the door behind him. John stared at the door, not blinking, but licking his bottom lip once, twice, three times before actually blinking. Shaking his head and chuckling to himself, he began to walk towards the door slowly. "Sherlock.." He knocked on the door. "Sherlock I'm coming in." Opening the door, he peeked in. The lights were already out, clothes stranded on the floor and Sherlock was in his bed, barely visible only due to his outline in the dark.

Taking small baby steps forward towards the dark outline, John rested his hand on what looked to be Sherlocks hip. "Sherlock..? Are you awake?"

No answer. Either he was feigning sleep or he really was asleep. John smiled and took off his clothes, leaving on his boxer briefs. Pulling the bed sheets back slowly, he sat down on the edge, slipping in his legs, his arms and then resting his head on the second pillow, then pulling the sheets up to his chin. He turned his head and smiled slightly at Sherlock, raising his hand over his neck and swiping away the dark matted curls from Sherlocks forehead. He looked so peaceful, so at rest and ease, John thought. Taking his hand back, he reached out with his finger and stroked along Sherlocks bare back, bumping over his spine.

 "I don't believe you have any idea just how amazingly beautiful you are.." John whispered, closing his eyes and taking his hand back.

Sherlock shuffled slightly and turned his head to see John with the corner of his eyes. "Beauty is a made up image to give people their own self-purpose on what a perfect being looks like. And that I am not." His head turned back and he pulled the sheets back up to his chin. "Goodnight, John."

 "You know what, Sherlock? At the christmas party when Molly said you say such horrible things, she was right. You do. You're unforgivably mean and rude." John laughed to himself. "But it's a part of you and I guess i've learnt to grow accustomed to it. Can I ask you something though?"

"You're going to anyways."

"Well.. yeah, but.. I was wondering if our kisses in between everything were just a one time thing. Because I'd like to know and I'm concerned for my own well-being and yes, yours also." Sherlock shifted his position and turned around to face John.

"Do you want it to be a one time thing? You want to forget."

"No, Sherlock. That's not what I meant. You know what I meant."

"I asked you a question."

"I asked you first."

John stared at Sherlock, anger building inside of him. "No. I do not want it to be a one time thing. I'm not saying I love you or anything, but it was nice. I liked it. Your turn."

"I don't either. To be honest, John, and please forgive me for this for you're now going to presumably rub this on me every day, but I liked it too. It made me.. happy? I guess it would be happy." Smiling a quick smile, Sherlock turned back around to face the opposite side of John. "Now, once again, Goodnight John."

John said nothing, taking the goodnight and letting it sift into his brain. A good night, indeed it was.

* * *

 

John woke up and looked around the room, light seeping in from the partially open window. The curtains were drawn back and they wrinkled down to the floor. Through the ray of light, you could see dust and dirt particles taking their flight in the air and disappearing into the dark streams.

Rubbing his eyes, John stretched his legs out in front of him and yawned, laying back down, letting his head rest on the pillow. Sherlock lay next to him, breathing soundly. He had an almost completely unnoticeable snore; but you could feel the vibrations from within his chest whenever he breathed. Fumbling his fingers around under the sheets, he found Sherlocks fingers on his sides and grabbed them, intertwining them together.

Sherlock mumbled. “Mm.. Jawn, I don’t want to go to school..” Smacking his lips together, Sherlock rolled over and faced him, exhaling loudly and smiling. “Jaaawn.”

“You’re actually rather stupid when you sleep.”

“You’re stupid.” Sherlock flicked Johns nose.

Rubbing the palm of Sherlocks hand with his finger, John sighed and shook his head. “If this is how you are in the morning, I’m not sure if I want any part in it.” He laughed and scooted closer to Sherlock, allowing him to rest his head on Johns bare chest. Brushing the curls from his head, he kissed it. Sherlocks forehead was slightly sweaty, and his hair was matted against it so John struggled to move it, but that didn’t stop him from kissing it every now and then.

“You should take a shower. You’re gross.”

“You’re right about that.” Sherlock removed his head from Johns chest and threw his side of the sheets off him, stretching his arms and getting up, placing one hand on his back. He grunted slightly in pain and inhaled sharply. “Slept awkward.”

“Bugger.” John smirked and pulled the covers to his chin. “You go and shower and I’ll be waiting for you when you come back.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows and walked a little down the hall, turning into the bathroom. He shut the door behind him, then grabbed a towel from the cupboard and set it on the sink that was semi close to the shower. Better this than to walk all the way to the cupboard and wet the floor. Flinging the curtain back, he turned the nozzle half way to the warm side and felt the water. It took a couple minutes for it to heat up before Sherlock removed his remaining clothes and stepped in, letting his head down for the water to drain forward.

10 minutes passed before Sherlock was done bathing and he stepped out, reaching for the towel and pulling it around his waist. He shook his head, flinging water all over the bathroom in the process.

Sherlock walked back to the room and turned the knob, opening the door. Looking inside and at the bed, he found John was asleep again, mouth open and a snore ringing out.

He removed his towel, finding a clean pair of slacks and underwear, pulling them on and buttoning his pants. He left his shirt off, knowing that most likely when John woke up, he’d probably glorify in that. Walking across the room, he pulled the curtains closed so it was dark in the room. Nyctophilia. The love of dark. Taking comfort in dark and its presence.

“Sherlock?” Johns head was up and above the covers, looking around. “Is that you?”

“Yes.”

“So you’re done showering?”

“Yes. What happened to, ‘I’ll be waiting for you?’” Sherlock smiled and sat down on the bed next to John.

“Well.. I-I just got a little tired, y’know?”

“I know what?”

“Well you wouldn’t really know what tired feels like because you never sleep. On cases, you just binge on coffee until the case is over, then you sleep for maybe a little bit.” Sniffing, John sat up and pulled his knees to his chest. “Not that I can do anything about it. Just glad you slept last night. Would you have slept if I wasn’t there?”

“No.”

Silence.

“John, where are my cigarettes?”

“You don’t need them, Sherlock. You know that.”

“I do.”

“Why?” John glared at Sherlock and crawled out of the bed, towards the door. “Never mind, Sherlock, feel free to do whatever the fuck you want. It is definitely your life. No consideration towards anyone.” Waving his hands in front of him in a quick notion, he fled the bedroom and into the kitchen to start some tea. 

Sherlock got up and walked towards the door, closing it behind him. “John?”

“Here.”

“John, you’re always so indescribably angry whenever I seem to ask for cigarettes. I’d be fine if I even had just one.”

“That’s not the point, yeah? The point is, is that it’s an addiction, and as we both know, you’re not very good with addictions, right?”

Sherlock’s anger began to build up inside him and he shuddered, flinging it away. “I’m going out.”

“Where could you possibly go out?” John laughed slightly, offending Sherlock a bit. “Oh, Sherlock. I didn’t mean it like that, you kno-.”

Sherlock was already in his bedroom, pulling on a dress shirt and grabbing his coat. “See you tonight.” Exiting the flat, he slammed the door behind him and fled down the stairs, turning and walking out into Baker Street.

John watched from the window as he hailed a cab. Sighing, he walked over to his chair and sat down, eyes getting watery. He shook his head angrily and pounded his fists down on the armrests. Nothing ever seemed to be what John wanted it to be. Sherlock was too stubborn and John hated it. He loved it actually, but inside he hated it. Everything nice he tried to do, he took it as granted.

“I should just stop doing things for him.” John said aloud to himself and sighed again.

“Don’t.” A familiar soft voice appeared at the door. Mrs. Hudson walked in carrying some muffins and biscuits, setting them down on the coffee table in the kitchen. “It may seem like he doesn’t appreciate you, love, but he does. I know he does. In the years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him flee from someone because he was mad at them. He does have feelings. Especially for you, and that goes to show.” She smiled and kissed John on the head. “Use force, sweetie. That will win him over.” Giggling slightly, she exited the flat and shut the door behind her.

John sat up and walked over to the food tray, popping a biscuit into his mouth and smiling slightly.

Sitting back down in his chair, tears appeared in Johns eyes again and he bit his lip to stop them. He was afraid of his feelings, afraid of what he felt for Sherlock and possibly for what Sherlock felt in return. Or what if he didn’t feel back? What if he really was just taking him for granted? Like a play toy. Someone to go on cases with and put in danger so he himself wouldn’t be put in too much danger.

His split from Mary was hard, and he thought Sherlock would be the first person to comfort him in his own way, and to excite him and make him forget it, but now it seems like Sherlock never changed. He was the same selfish, stubborn, un-emotional bastard that he met years back. He despised him in the beginning and now he loved him.

Thoughts whirled around in Johns head and he began to cry, burying his face in his hands. He lurched forward and sobbed, taking in sharp inhales and dramatic exhales. His body quivered with each cry and he beat his fists upon the arm rests again, shouting out loud.

After what seemed like hours, but was only about 30 minutes, he relaxed and slouched down in his chair. His eyes were heavy and so was his head, and right as he began to close them, the door opened and Sherlock stepped in.

John was quick to wipe his eyes and sniff, avoiding Sherlock’s gaze from behind him. His eyes were closed; shut tight and he stopped breathing. Footsteps approached him from behind and a wrapping sound was heard. When John opened his eyes, there was a bouquet of roses in front of him. A dozen red roses, to be exact, all perfectly in bloom. Sherlock was standing in front of him, the roses in his right hand and a box of chocolates in the other. John sniffed and gasped slightly.

“Sherlock- I don’t get it..”

“They’re for you. I knew I had upset you. And here’s to make up for it. And if you tell anyone I did this, I will kill you. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to walk around the streets carrying these items? The looks I got.” He chuckled while John grabbed both the roses and chocolates.

“This.. is so incredibly shocking. Sweet, I mean. Shocking but sweet. You, Sherlock Holmes, I would have never guessed that you’d be the kind of person to do this for someone you angered.” He stood up and smiled, looking up at Sherlock. “I also hate the fact that you’re taller than me.”

Sherlock did a quick smile and stepped back from John. “I’ll put the roses in water.” He took them from John and went into the kitchen, stealing an empty vase from a cupboard and filling it to the approximate percentage of water it should have. He took the roses out of the wrapping and trimmed off the bottoms with scissors to make them shorter, then stuck them in the vase and placed them in the middle of the table.

“Scones and biscuits? Mrs. Hudson was here. And by the browning on both, she had the time to make them to perfection. The platter is also spectacularly clean.”

“There you go again. Mr. ‘I can do everything and I’m smart’.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love it, John Watson.” Sherlock stepped forward towards John and grabbed him by the waist, pulling him towards his body. He pressed his hips unto Johns and John pressed back. Removing his gloves, Sherlock’s finger ran wild across John’s jaw, then down to his chest, sweeping across his shirt buttons. “Your face is turning red and your pupils are dilated.” He smirked. John blushed.

“Listen here, Sherlock.” He smiled. “If this happens between us, then for you and I, there’s NO backing out whatsoever. If we do this, then we’ve both made a commitment with each other.”

“You know I don’t like commitments. My work is my commitment.”

“You can still have your work and have me at the same time. I think you’re just afraid of feeling.”

“I don’t have feelings. Caring is useless, it only results in pain.”

“You’re wrong, Sherlock. It’s a wonderful thing, love is. It brings happiness to so many people and it saves almost everybody. You’re not immune to feelings. Every human has them, and from my gathering, I’m pretty sure you’re human. Maybe.” John laughed slightly.

Sherlock furrowed his brow. “I am human. I’m just smarter than everyone.” He stole a kiss from John’s lips.

“Is that so?” John giggled and thrust his pelvis against Sherlock’s. “Can you resist this though? If you’re smarter, you’ll realize that this is wrong. But you’d want it anyways, because you’re the same as me, Sherlock.”

“I’m not.”

“Oh, but you are.” John began to nibble on Sherlock’s neck, smiling as his hand found Sherlock’s warm thigh and he began to rub, inching towards his growing erection. Sherlock threw his head back softly and closed his eyes.

“John.. don’t.”

“Shh.” John put his finger to Sherlock’s mouth and Sherlock pursed his lips together, quieting himself. “Follow me.”

“Where are we going?”

“I want to see your bedroom.”

“You’ve already seen my bedroom, John.”

John sighed and bumped his forehead against Sherlock’s. “You’re hopeless, Sherlock.” Grabbing him by the hand, John led him into the bedroom down the hall, “Now, I need to ask you something. Understand?”

“You’re going to ask me whether I’ve done this or not.” Sherlock knew the question before it even came and he wasn’t surprised that John asked. It was only standard that someone would ask that question before coitus with either female or male. There was that one time in college before he dropped out, where his roommate David was bi-curious, and Sherlock also being that way, decided to aid David in his confused sexuality. But there was no penetration in that act. Only the oral. Either way, Sherlock thoroughly enjoyed the most of it, but David graduated before Sherlock dropped out and he never received a new roommate who was the same.

He also never participated in anything sexual other than himself for that matter. And now was his chance.

“I’ve had little experience in this, but I’m capable of doing it.”

“Well. We don’t have to do anything, really. Just the little bits and pieces that come with it, usually forepla-“ John was interrupted by hands. Strong hands that pushed him back onto Sherlock’s bed and he fell on his back.

“You talk too much. You’re nervous; you’re sweating and your body heat has extended. I can also hear the change in your heart beat.”

“Sherlock, can you for once not go all ‘detective’ on me?” John frowned slightly and blew air out of his mouth in a slight whistling sound.

“I suppose I can stay away from deducing anything right now.” He slipped off of John and unbuttoned his slacks, sliding them off and letting them hit the floor with a light thud. His erection was completely noticeable underneath his boxer briefs; it protruded greatly and John eyed it, gulping.

“You don’t look very small.”

“Not to boast, but I’m not.” Smiling his rare smile for a quick second, he slipped off his coat and dress shirt, fingers working majestically as he undid the buttons. It was his purple shirt. That purple, soft, luxurious shirt that John loved him in. He let it slide to the floor, making no sound when it hit the carpet. Now all that was left was his underwear, which he wouldn’t be taking off for some time.

John began to work his jumper off, but Sherlock’s hands slid onto John’s belly, running upwards and aiding John in taking his clothing off. Sherlock’s touch made John tremble and he smiled softly. “Your hands are cold.”

“Everything on me is cold. Unemotional remember?” Sherlock unzipped John’s trousers and slid them down to his ankles. He kissed John’s inner thigh, feeling the warmth from below glow upon his face. He made his way upwards and kissed John’s stomach now, John closing his eyes and putting his head back.

“You know, usually if someone is inexperienced, they’d let the other person do it.” John smirked.

“I’m not a normal person, excuse you, and I’ve had semi-experience. That does not mean I don’t know how to please someone.” Sherlock mashed his lips against John’s and forced his tongue between his teeth. John released his grip and let Sherlock explore his mouth, feeling around with his mouth and tongue and brushing it against John’s. He explored everything; the walls of John’s mouth, the ridges in his teeth and the chapped lines of his lips. He had expected everything to be perfect, but it wasn’t. John was far too rough with his tongue, his lips were chapped, and his breathing was off.

But Sherlock knew it was just a part of what they were doing. John had probably never been with a man, and then all of a sudden he was in love with one; his best friend. How nerve racking it must have been.

He continued to kiss John, them both moving their lips in identical notions and brushing their tongues together. “Jesus Christ, Sherlock, you’re good at this.” Sherlock said nothing back, but removed his mouth from John’s, pressing both of their foreheads together. John licked his lips, eyeing every detail of Sherlock’s face. His cupids bow, his pale eyes which seem to hold little to no emotion, his pale complexion, and his dark matted hair. He was gorgeous.

Sherlock had carefully already planned this in his head. This for him wasn’t going to be some sort of one night stand. It was going to be romantic and it was going to last as long as he wanted. Not the sex, but their relationship itself. Kissing John’s head, he smiled slightly and sighed. “Are you ready?”

“I am if you are. Please don’t be the person that regrets this.”

“I don’t want to regret this, John. Never in my life... would I want to forget this.” Kissing John’s stomach, he trailed down to his belly button and left his lips above it. With his free hand, the other one holding himself up, he slipped off John’s underwear and flung it across the room. He quickly took John into his mouth, triggering off some sort of reaction inside of John, causing his head to fly backwards onto the pillow. He let out a slight moan, and clenched his fists, grabbing the sheets. Licking his lips, not once but twice, both top and bottom, he sighed gently and released his grip, getting accustomed to what was going on.

Sherlock continued to move his mouth up and down, his hands also searching for something to grip, like John’s inner thigh. He smoothed across it softly, his hands gentle and unbelievably cold to the touch. John shuddered, thrusting upward slightly, causing Sherlock to back up his head a little.

“Sorry! I told you that you were cold. You frightened me.” Sherlock took John out and smiled slightly.

“No. I apologize, I honestly should’ve let you be the one to do this. You’d be softer, I know you.”

“I love it rough, though.” And with that, John put his hands on Sherlock’s head, ushering him down once again to take him inside. He smiled and gladly accepted his cock. Bobbing his head up and down, he swirled his tongue around the tip of John’s member, making John gasp with excitement and relaxation. He began to move faster, pursing his lips tightly so it felt better when he would pull up. John built up and up, until finally his calves tightened, his back arched and his eyes squeezed shut. He released into Sherlock’s mouth, and Sherlock happily swallowed it all, wiping his upper lip and laying his head down on John’s stomach.

John’s head pounded and he panted harshly. His lips were extremely dry and swollen and he was badly craving a drink. “Sherlock..”

“I already know.” Sherlock pulled on his sweatpants he had kept from a former case and walked out of the bedroom, into the kitchen to fill a glass with ice water.

Walking back, he entered the room to find John finally relaxed and breathing soundly. He had also quickly gotten under the bed covers, presumably still naked.

Sherlock set the glass down on the nightstand and walked over to his side of the bed, slipping underneath the covers to join him.

“Sherlock, can I ask you something?”

“Is it important?”

“Well, yes. No. I guess.”

“I do.”

“Do what? You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

“I do love you.”

John set his water cup down after taking a sip from it and he coughed slightly. “How on Eart-“

“I just know, John. And now you have your answer, don’t you?”

“Well.. yes I do, I suppose.”

“Is it the answer you wanted?”

“Actually, yes. I was extremely scared to be honest, though. I didn’t think you were capable of feelings that high. I knew to a certain extent, but.. yeah. Have you ever loved someone?”

“Other than my own parents, no.”

“Oh.” John was silent again and took another sip from his water, smacking his lips together.

The silence between them wasn’t a bad silence, it was the kind that was usually needed after something like this. There were couples that would have a nice chat afterwards and maybe a movie or cuppa, and then there were couples like them. The couples that needed, for a little, to be alone with their thoughts. Mostly maybe to comprehend what had just happened and how to either move on from it or continue the act and/or relationship that had just transpired.

Both of them wanted to continue with this relationship. They both had made it perfectly clear to one another before it even started.

It began to get dark outside and the rain started, hailing down horrifically hard. The pitter-patter of it on the window was bliss to both of their ears. Before it got too bad, Sherlock got up and shut the window, avoiding any chance of the rain getting in. The sill was already slightly dotted with little water pellets, but it wasn’t too bad, Sherlock decided. He walked back to the bed and got back under the covers with John. He was sound asleep though, after all, so Sherlock turned onto his side and watched him. How the breath came in and went out, the rise of his chest and the fall of his chest.

He looked much younger when he slept. The lines in his face caused by stress had disappeared and his jaw was unclenched, bringing out a sort of softness in his face. Sherlock took his index finger and stroked along his jaw, feeling the slight bumps with it. John smacked his lips together and twitched.

“Mm, don’t. That tickles.” John giggled slightly and swatted Sherlock’s hand away, his eyes still closed. “Go to sleep or something, I don’t want you watching me, you creep.” Sherlock smiled and leaned over John, turning off the bedside lamp.

“You know I don’t sleep.”

“I’ll make you, Sherlock, I swear I will.”

Smiling, Sherlock turned around and faced the opposite direction of John, closing his eyes and exhaling softly. “Goodnight, John Watson.”

“Goodnight, Sherlock Holmes… I love you.”

“Quite right.” Sherlock held a laugh in and sniffed.

John frowned slightly, water in his eyes appearing. He better say it back, I swear if he doesn’t I’ll move out and find Mary again and I’ll never speak to him again. After all we’ve been through, after all we just di-

“I love you too, John.”

John’s thoughts stopped midway and he smiled to himself, the tears in his eyes disappearing and his heart taking a gigantic leap. At least he had said it back, and now John was finally happy, knowing that his best friend, his lover, his life partner, and his partner in crime had the same feelings for him.

There was nothing in the world that could please John more than the fact that for years and years, Sherlock had kept his feelings hidden, and it only took a little bit of satisfying roughness to let him bring it out. And now here they were, side by side, after a night of great oral sex, sleeping with each other and loving one another.

No one had seen that coming, except Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft.

Mrs. Hudson. John couldn’t wait to tell Mrs. Hudson. She was the one who urged him to be rough, to be assertive. And he did so, and he won Sherlock over. She was the one person he really had to thank other than himself and possibly Sherlock.

He would do so in the morning, but for now, it was time to sleep and relax. To gather his thoughts and think about what Sherlock had just done for him. He’d have to make it up though and return the favor whether Sherlock liked it or not. He’d make him like it.

And Sherlock, not yet asleep, knew that John, being the way he was, was going to do the same for him, most likely in the morning when they had both waken up from their nice, deep sleep.

 

“John, wake up.” John almost flew out of bed, startled by an article of clothing whipping him from above the covers.

“Ow, Sherlock! What was that for?”

“We’re going out for breakfast, and then to meet Lestrade.”

“Sherlock, it’s barely 7.”

“It’s actually 8:30, now get out of bed and get dressed, or I’ll do it.”

“Demanding. Fine.” John removed his sheets, exposing himself and he pulled on the clothes that Sherlock had whipped him with. “So where are we going to eat?”

“Just Speedy’s. I don’t feel like going somewhere too far.” Sherlock took off his sweatpants and threw them in a corner.

“Shezza.”

“Don’t call me that.”

John laughed and buttoned up his shirt, folding his cuffs forward. He noticed this wasn’t his shirt; it was far too long and big for him. So he tucked it into the pants he was given and rolled the cuffs back.

“Why am I wearing your shirt?”

“Mrs. Hudson came in and grabbed the laundry. Yours at least.”

John stared. “Sherlock. She came in… here? She saw us, in-in the bed together?” John shouted.

“I thought you said you didn’t care about Mrs. Hudson seeing us. Didn’t she want us together in the first place?”

“Well, yes. But… I find it a little embarrassing that she’d walk in here and see us in bed together.”

“It’s not embarrassing. Are you embarrassed of us, John?” Sherlock grinned and furrowed his brows together. “I’m not. I’d show you off to the world, if I could, every inch of you.”

John blushed and pulled on another jumper, avoiding Sherlock’s burning gaze. “Shut up, Sherlock.”

Sherlock pulled on his usual coat, with the red buttonhole and grabbed his scarf from the coat hanger in the corner, wrapping it around his neck.

“I love that outfit.” John smiled and approached Sherlock, kissing his cheek softly. “It makes you look professional and mysterious.”

Sherlock smiled slightly and blushed, but hid it quickly. “Ready?”

“If you are.” John opened the bedroom door, allowing Sherlock to leave first and walk down the hallway to the flat door. “I am actually extremely hungry.”

“I’m not.”

“You never are.” John closed the flat door behind him and locked it, throwing the keys to Sherlock when he was done. He caught them, put them in his pocket, and retrieved his phone while he was digging around.

‘Are you positive this is going to work? SH’

‘I’m positive, Sherlock. Would you ever doubt me? –Mycroft’

‘Of course. SH’

Sherlock put his phone back in his pocket and walked down the steps, greeting Mrs. Hudson as he stepped outside with John. Letting John, go first, he retrieved a needle from his opposite pocket and approached John from behind, pressing into him. “Be still.”

“Wh-“

Sherlock shoved the needle into John’s arm and John instantly became unconscious, falling to the floor. Sherlock picked him up and hailed a cab that was waiting on the side of the road over. Opening the door with his free hand, he set John inside gently and got in after him.

“You know where to go.” The driver said nothing and Sherlock laid John’s head on his shoulder, his arm around him, stroking his cheek with his thumb. The cab drove along and Sherlock continued to watch John sleep, unconscious. It was a good watch. To drug him was only for his own protection. And now Sherlock took awful care to make sure he was alright and didn’t choke on his own vomit if that were to happen. Continuing to stroke his cheek, the cab stopped.

They were in front of an ocean. The water stretched endlessly and the sand sloped down towards it. No one was here, for Sherlock had phoned Lestrade late last night asking if he could block it off with police cars. Giving the man some papers, Sherlock got out, going to the other side of the cab and picking John up, marriage style, and closing the door with his foot. He looked around and walked down the slope, placing his footing carefully. Once he had reached where he wanted to be, he sat John down on a blanket that had been already there, presumably planted by Lestrade or another officer.

A boat floated in the water right next to the wooden pier and Sherlock kissed John’s forehead before heading over to it. Preparations were to be made. They couldn’t stay here. If any of his enemies knew Sherlock had cared so deeply for John, they’d sure as hell try to get rid of him.

He got into the boat; a well sized yacht, and unlocked a cupboard with three suitcases. This is where John’s clothes had gone and all of Sherlock’s clothes and scientific items he’d use while they were gone. He looked into the fridge. It was loaded with food, months worth at least. The pantry was also stocked with dry foods that would last them even longer. Setting the drivers and passenger seat up, he exited the boat and made the walk back to John lying on the sand. Picking him up again, grunting slightly and placing his footing down in the sand.

“For such a short guy, John, you’re heavy.” Sherlock whispered to himself and continued on his way to the boat, taking his time with the weight on his back. He had reached the boat only minutes later and shut the yacht door behind him. Setting John down in the passenger seat, he clicked in his seat belt and sat down in his own driver’s seat. Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out his phone, checking his messages.

‘Can I call off the cars now? Anderson’s getting bitchy. L.’

‘Yes. I’ll see you in awhile, Lestrade. Sh’

Sherlock put his phone back in his pocket and turned the key in the ignition. He looked over at John, who seemed to be struggling to wake up. Panic attack.

John flailed his arms about and screamed, falling onto the floor, undoing his seatbelt of course, and kicking his feet like a small child. Sherlock rushed onto the floor, taking him into his arms and pressing his face into his chest.

“No! NO! I will not let you do this!” John struggled to push Sherlock away, but he was much stronger and continued to squeeze John in his arms. John slapped Sherlock everywhere he could, his eyes still closed and tears now streaming down his face.

“Wake up, John. John, wake up.” Sherlock pressed his fingers into John’s head and continued to hold him. John had stopped struggling and clung onto Sherlock, sobbing hysterically, digging his fingers into Sherlock’s back.

“Sherlock..”

“I’m here. It’s okay.” Sherlock frowned and put his chin on top of John’s head, rocking him gently back and forth. “Tell me what happened. Was it a war memory?”

“No... Well, sort of...” John sniffed, “It was about you. It was about the roof. When you jumped and left me for two years. How I waited... But you never came back. Not like you did now. You were actually dead. You never came back. Someone took you from me. Someone in the war. Sherlock.. and who’s to say you won’t do it again? Who's to say you won't jump.”

Sherlock stared at John. “I won’t do it again. You know that. And you know it was for your own safety. And many others, I was not going to risk all of you dying.”

 "You should've told me though. I don't understand why you never though of that, Sherlock. You left me behind and you had no consideration for anyone but yourself. You weren't protecting anyone but yourself and you're too fucking egotistical to see that. Why the fuck are we in a boat?" 

"Oh. I forgot to tell you, we can't stay here. You know that I'm literally surrounded by people who actually hate my guts." Sherlock furrowed his brows and stood up, letting John fall to the floor. Sitting back down in his chair,he began turning the key in the ignition.

"Thanks for the fall.." John mumbled and stood up, rubbing the back of his head and wincing. "At least this time I fell."

"Not. Funny." Sherlock scowled and kept his eyes fixated on the water. The boat began to go, John almost losing his footing and holding onto the chair that was in front of him. Once Sherlock drove at a steady pace, he relaxed and released his grip, sitting back down in his passenger seat. 

"Where are we going?"

"I don't know."

John stared, mouth open. "You.. don't know?" The man who knew everything, the man who could tell him about his past, present and future just in one meeting, for once didn't know what was going to happen or where they were going to go. "You always know everything.." Sherlock said nothing and continued to stare into the seemingly endless sea. "Sherlock, I'm not quite sure I understand." John stood up, placing his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. He brushed it off.

"Don't touch me."

John cringed and backed away. "You can stick to your pity party, I'm going onto the deck." Sighing, he turned around and opened the glass double doors and stepped out onto the wooden planks. Shutting the doors behind him, he turned around and faced the ocean. They were further drifting away from the shore, tall buildings slowly getting smaller with the distance vastly stretching out. Walking to the side, he stuck his fingers down the white walls fo the boat and dipped his three all fingers into the water, creating an array for splashes. The water was incredibly cold and brittle, almost like ice, and he immediately brought his fingers back, curling his hand into a fist. There was no chance, wherever they were going, that he'd be able to swim in that. Maybe if he had traveled towards the Caribbean Islands, there'd be a slight chance that the water would be warmer.

Turning back around, he peered inside the doors again, looking at Sherlock's head. He hadn't moved from when John had gone outside, nor would he probably move. John had teased him, and possibly offended him for once, not knowing something. There have been a couple times that Sherlock couldn't quite get a case, but in the end, it was always resolved. But this matter, this was not something that Sherlock would or could resolve.

A chair was sitting to the left of John, and he sat down on it, blowing air out of his mouth and crossing his feet over his ankles. Inhaling greatly, he smiled at the sea air. He could faintly feel a mist of saltwater here and there on his face. He stuck his face out and let the cool air blow, settling in a mood of relaxtion. He was still mad at Sherlock, but at the same time, he felt bad for him. Turning his head to the side, he struggled to see into the glass doors and catch a glimpse of him. Sighing and turning his head, he turned on the radio that was to his right on top of a desk. It was a light tune, full of piano and a soft melody. He closed his eyes, biting his lip to hold back tears. He had no idea where they were going, and he wasn't even sure Sherlock knew. No, he was positive Sherlock didn't know.

It seemed like hours went by before the engine had shut off suddenly and John startled himself awake. Looking around, he noticed the sun had begun to go down and clouds were forming above the sky. Rain was surely going to come and he wouldn't want to be out here when it did. Getting and stretching, shutting off the radio next to him, he opened the glass doors and shut them behind him. "Sherlock?" Looking around, he noticed Sherlock wasn't in his seat. Continuing to walk, he opened two large double wooden doors, sliding them to opposite ends. 

Inside was a bed. A king sized, normal bed. With white sheets and a grey comforter and 4 pillows. And across; there lay Sherlock, flat on his belly, stripped completely naked and the sheet strayed across his backside, covering his arse. John contained a giggle and and turned around, sliding the doors closed quietly. He removed his shoes and clothes, leaving on his underwear.

Sneaking over to the window, he drew the blinds closed, making it almost perfectly dark in the room. Removing his coat and jumper, he walked over to the bed, grabbing the sheets off of Sherlock and fixing them so they splayed all over the entire bed like they should. Sherlock grunted slightly and pulled back from John, yanking the cloth of his hand. He curled up into a ball, feet hanging out and frowned.

"Thought you were mad at me." He scoffed at John and side eyed him, pale eyes striking right through John's darker retina. He shuddered.

"I can never stay mad at you. You're too perfect." John crawled onto the bed, positioning his face above Sherlock's looking down at him. Sherlock stared back, the anger fading away slowly and the redness in his face seemingly evaporating. "You're full of flaws Sherlock. So many of them, but you flaw so well. You do bad and wrong things _so exceptionally_ well..." He trailed off and kicked his shoes off his feet and onto the floor. Moving the sheet over and taking off his pants, he snuggled next to Sherlock, slithering his arm underneath his head. Sherlock's head lolled and he turned around to face John, grinning slightly.

"You really are so weak, John."

"Me? Weak? Pssh, yeah, okay. Whatever you say, Mr. 'I have no feelings, I'm a machine' bleh bleh bleh." John frowned, licked his bottom lip and pulled one of the four pillows over his face. The feeling was cool and soft and it felt good against John's face.

Sherlock stared at John, raising his eyebrows. "I guess if I seem to have no feelings, then I'll be leaving, because like you said, I'm a 'machine.'" He got up, pulling the sheet off of John and wrapping it around himself.

John peeked out from under the pillow and looked at him. "Don't."

"Why?"

"Because I said. I just got in here to lay with you and now you're just going to leave. Can't we relax? We don't even know where we're go.." He trailed off, covering his face again after noticing the redness flashing back to Sherlock's face. It was probably best to not mention how Sherlock had no idea what was going on. John already knew what a wreck he'd become and how embarrassed he was when he teased him for it earlier. "Sorry.."

"For what?"

"For bringing it up again. I didn't mean to- I didn't try-.." John blushed at himself stuttering, "Oh bloody hell, you know what I mean."

Sherlock laughed and got back onto the bed, flopping down next to John and pulling the sheet over both of them. "Although I don't know where we're going, I'm not really that upset about not knowing. It's exciting; like a thrill sort of." Sniffing, he wiped the corners of his nose and winked. "I was only mad because you were teasing me about it, which in all fairness really isn't that funny."

"I never said it was funny, it's just that I don't get the chance to tease you very often. Although like I said, earlier, you do have a lot of flaws, they're really nothing to make fun of." Turning on his side, John faced away from Sherlock, pulling the sheets up to his chin. The clouds had now encased the entire sky in dark grey, and the wind howled outside, banging the windows with soft thuds. The boat may have been heavy, but not heavy enough to prevent it from rocking slightly. John clutched his stomach and squeezed his eyes shut.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock peered over his shoulder, resting his chin on the open space of his neck.

"I'm not sure. Never felt this way on water before. I think I need to stand up."

"No, no. Lie on your back with your knees propped up and your hands to your sides." Sherlock removed the blanket from John and pulled him onto his back, bringing his arms down to his sides. John did as he was told and brought his knees up at an angle. "Breath slowly but take deep breaths."

In.

 

Out.

 

In.

 

Out.

The queasiness in John's stomach began to disappear, just as quickly as it came. He sighed deeply and smiled, looking at Sherlock but his eyes closed. He whispered, "Thank you." 

Sherlock said nothing but removed the sheet from himself and stood up, stretching his arms above his head. He pulled back on the clothes he was wearing before he had gone to sleep on the bed and looked back at John. Asleep. He smiled quickly and buttoned up his shirt, then put on his coat, opening the two double doors and heading back to the drivers seat. Sitting down and buckling his lap belt, he looked behind his shoulder as if watching behind him, maybe to make sure no one was following them. But what worried him was the fact that he didn't know who would be. There'd be so many possibilities and now that John was somebody he cared deeply about, they'd be able to figure it out and would potentially try to exterminate John, presumably bringing Sherlock to his knees.

"I've been wanting to shag you."

Sherlock jumped and looked back. There was John, standing near the bedroom doorway in only his underwear and socks, leaning on his arm in the door frame, smirking. He winked and removed his hands from behind his back, walking towards Sherlock and slinging them around his neck. He set his chin on Sherlock's shoulder and Sherlock shuddered, making a slight whimpering noise. John's breath seemed to crawl down Sherlock's neck and ear, sending chills through his spine.

"Sh-shag me? Like.. actually shag? Intercourse?"

"Oh, Sherlock, why do you have to call it intercourse? That's so... university. Or school. Like when we'd learn from the teacher. Call it what it's actually called."

"Sex?"

"Yeah. That's better, you're learning." John giggled and nibbled on Sherlock's earlobe, making him blush madly. Sherlock took his hand and swatted away John's head.

"Not now. I need to think."

"To think about how much you want to shag me." He smirked and grabbed Sherlock's shirt, twisting it and pulling him upwards, then turning him to face him. Putting his nose directly to Sherlock's he spoke in a whisper. "You know that you want this, you're just too egotistical to admit that. Say it for me, Sherlock. Say it."

"I want-"

"No. Ask me for it. Beg."

Sherlock swallowed and looked down at his feet, now unbelievably nervous and sweat beads appearing on his forehead. "Please, John Watson.." He swallowed again. "I want you.. to fuck me."

John giggled slightly and looked away for a second, holding in harsh laughter. "Okay, I wasn't expecting it to come out like that." He laughed now, Sherlock staring and rushing past him, the unforgivable anger look returning to his face for at least the third time. "Oh, come now Sherlock. it was funny!"

"It really wasn't." He turned around and removed the gloves that were on his hands and let them drop to the floor. "But I'll ignore your teasing. Again." He slid open the doors to the bedroom and walked inside, stripping off all of his clothes. Turning around, John was heading towards him, almost full speed. He pushed Sherlock onto the bed, pinning his arms above his head. Sherlock laughed and kissed his lips harshly, hearing the clink of their teeth hitting slightly. John's hand slithered around underneath them until it grabbed Sherlock's extremely protruding erection.

"Are you ready?" Sherlock asked as John stroked his cock gently, smirking.

"If you are." And with that being said, Sherlock's hands pulled down John's underwear and he now positioned on his stomach, legs and hands supporting him up.

* * *

 

The rain had stopped, but the clouds hung up in the air solemnly, refusing to take their leave. Sherlock lay next to John, arm under his head and John snoring lightly, the sound ringing out like music to Sherlock's ears. His eyes were closed, but he wasn't asleep. He couldn't sleep. Too many thoughts and worries were shrouding his mind, like the clouds that wouldn't go outside. Sherlock needed to keep John safe and running away might have been the only answer

Opening his eyes, he looked around the room and noticing it was beginning to get darker. The sun was going down. Hopefully the clouds would go away, because being on the ocean at night was beautiful. Him and John could sit out under the stars on those chairs that were on deck and they could just relax. God knows they needed to relax. At least Sherlock did. Removing his arm from underneath John, he slid out of the bed and pulled on his clothes, including his coat and shoes. Before leaving the room, he glanced over his shoulder and looked at John. Smiling, he looked forward and slid the doors open, closing them quietly behind him. Turning to his left, he went outside and inhaled deeply. It smelled like salt and rain. The perfect combination of dirt and chemicals. The clouds had started to disperse, leaving a patch of open sky above him. The stars shone dimly for now, but eventually they'd cover the whole sky.

He sat down in a chair, sighing and looking up at the disappearing clouds. The door opened and John walked out, wrapped in one of Sherlock's clearly-too-big-for-him jumper and a pair of his boxers. John looked at him and sat down on his lap, smiling. Wrapping his arms around Sherlock's neck, they touched noses and closed their eyes simultaneously, breathing in each other's scent.

"That was nice, wasn't it?" John smiled and kissed Sherlock passionately, lips brushing together and exhales coming out of their noses. They both smiled at each other and John stood up, walking to the edge of the boat.

"You mean the interco-" He stopped. "Sex. Sorry. I know how you hate it when I say that."

"It doesn't matter what you say, Sherlock. I love you." He turned and stared at him, smiling. "And if I could have had this happen earlier, I definitely would've made it happen as soon as I could, because this is absolutely bloody perfect." Sherlock opened his mouth to speak next but John raised a hand. "Please, please don't say anything right now I just.." He hung his head, "I Just want silence and I want to bask in it right now, okay?"

"Shut up."

"Excuse me?"

"I said shut up, John. Stop talking."

"Why? What is so bloody fucking important, that you need me to stop talking?! Bossy arse." John walked towards the doors to go inside, but Sherlock's arm was outstretched, halting John in his tracks.

"John Watson, you idiot. I love you too."

John looked down at him, smiling softly, tears appearing in his eyes. He bit his lip to hold them back, but failed and broke down in front of Sherlock. Standing up, Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, squeezing gently and placing his chin on top of his mouth. "John Watson, you are so oblivious. You're stupid, you're blind and you're the most interesting, amazing man I've ever met. And I really wish that you'd stop crying all over my coat." He laughed and kissed John's forehead.

John looked up at Sherlock and laughed back softly, kissing the crevice of Sherlock's neck. "I'm glad you care about me that much, I really am." Smiling, they pulled each other in for another hug and held on for what seemed like minutes, both breathing softly and relishing in every second that passed. This was the way it should be, always. Both of them, not knowing where the hell they were going on this damned boat, but neither cared. They were with each other and no one could take that away.

* * *

 


End file.
